


Brynhilda and the Murder Couple

by AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst, brightlycoloredteacups



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/F, Keeping Promises and Brynhilda's Saga Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst, https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlycoloredteacups/pseuds/brightlycoloredteacups
Summary: The Murder Couple from Keeping Promises teams up with Brynhilda in the modern days to wreak havoc and break bones. Maybe even a few hearts.





	1. Resignation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/gifts).



Brynhilda sits on the toilet. She’d only try it once, she told herself. Despite the risks, she’d try it once, and then it would be over. She didn’t think she ever wanted anything so badly before. She refused to ignore a desire so strong. So there she sits, alone in her bathroom, waiting for the results. Leg bouncing in irritation. Why did these things have to take so long?

           When the little timer on her phone goes off she jumps up and dives for the test. She pauses for a moment, closing her eyes. She doesn’t pray, she’s never prayed, but she hopes. She hopes to whatever is out there that this is the moment her wish comes true. She feels utterly foolish. She can’t say how long she stands there, eyes screwed shut, mouth forming the word ‘please’ repeatedly in the silence of her bathroom.

           She cracks open an eye, looking at the test. Her shoulders immediately drop. The test is negative. “I’m not pregnant.” She says to the empty space of her bathroom. Of course, she isn’t. Having a family of her own was entirely too much to hope for.

           Brynhilda drops the test into the trashcan and emerges from the bathroom. Looking about her home, she feels lonelier than ever. There’s not even a hint of warmth in her spartanly furnished home. Everything is cold and neat. Lifeless. Just like her. Just like her life.

           For a moment, she thinks that maybe she should try being ‘softer’. Maybe talk in a quieter tone, say less than she already does. Maybe cover up her muscles. That might attract someone. She pushes that thought away harshly. That train of thought was nothing more than a last ditch effort not to come to terms with reality. It would attract the kind of someone she didn’t want. She sits at her windowsill, grumpy, and looks up at the stars. Even if she had the strength to completely bury the person she was, eventually, they’d ask about her scars.

           She absentmindedly runs her fingers over her rough knuckles. Ylva pops up in her head, a flair of jealousy following, the image. Ylva had Ivar, a man who kissed her scars, her twisted kneecaps. Ivar and Ylva who’s depravity matched each other’s. Why couldn’t she have that? Why couldn’t someone hold her at night when Boggvir came for her in her dreams. Why couldn’t someone make her feel pretty, buy her stupid gifts and make her days a little brighter?

           It’s simple, the voice inside her head says, you’re a dog. You’ll only ever be a dog, doing tricks on command. You’re good for two things, fighting and killing. Why did you ever think you could do anything else? Just because you wanted it enough? Please. She brings her knees to her chest and buries her head inside her arms. But I’m lonely, she thinks, so lonely.

           She simply can’t understand it. She managed to find a friend. Two friends, if you counted Ivar on a good day. Yeah, the little voice says, two friends that-. She stops it in its track. She doesn’t want to think about this, she doesn’t want to ruin the image of Ylva in her head. She can’t, her friendship is the one thing she really has left in this world. Sure, the voice still whispers, but how long will you have it? She presses her lips together. That is a reasonable question in her mind. How long will she have it?

*

           Ivar looks at Brynhilda with glee. There was only one time she’d ever looked so uncomfortably rigid. She’s in his office downtown, a rucksack on her back. Usually, she just plops down on a chair and puts her disgusting boots on the edge of his desk. She’s done it so much the corner is rubbed smooth. But he can’t come to care now. She’s about to ask him for a favor. From the way she was so stiff, hands behind her back, feet slightly apart, he knew it was going to be a dozy. Was it money? He hopes its money. She hates asking for loans, considering he’s the man that already writes her checks.

           He’s working on his taunts when she speaks. “I’m turning in my resignation effective immediately.” His smile drops. “What?” He says. This is a joke, right? It must be a joke. “The original terms of our contract have been completed. Everyone that has tortured Ylva, their associates, all her enemies, are dead. She no longer needs protection.”

“What about me?” He asks, standing up angrily. Where the hell is all this coming from? Why is she just abandoning him like this. “If you recall,” Brynhilda says, “You told me once that you didn’t need my protection. You were fine without me before, and you’ll be fine without me in the future.”

“That was-”

“I thank you for the employment opportunity. Give Ylva my best.” She says shortly, stunning him. She turns and leaves his office before he can pull himself together enough to argue with her. “Brynhilda!” He yells, scrambling after her. By the time he gets out of his office, she’s nowhere to be found. He curses, and goes back into his office and tries to figure out what the hell had caused all this.

           Had the last job he sent her on been too much? No, it had been a present for her, and she’d come back, face beaten but smiling. Had he said something? No, couldn’t be that either. Brynhilda was not one to shy away from challenging him. He wracks his brain for information, combing over the last year at least. Everything had seemed perfectly fine. More than fine when Brynhilda found out he and Ylva were expecting.

           It couldn’t be the new baby. Could it? Ivar shakes his head, telling himself not to be stupid. Brynhilda had baby fever the moment she found out Ylva was pregnant. Hell, the woman had even paid for, and built, the entire nursery. She even started Ylva on a new diet plan. She was just as excited for the new Lothbrok as the rest of them were.

           Ivar glares at the door. What the hell had gotten into her?

*

           Ivar watched Ylva closely. His wife had been worrying her napkin since dinner had been set. Ivar had told her about Brynhilda’s strange behavior today. Until now, his wife hadn’t been too worried. “Ylva,” Ivar whispers, placing his hand on hers. “I don’t think Brynhilda is coming.”

“But she always comes,” Ylva argues. “I had Lars make her favorite. She always comes when he makes her favorite.” Ivar is going to try soothing her again, but doesn’t get the chance. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you haven’t.” Ylva’s sharp eyes turn to him. “Did  _you_  upset her?” Ivar presses his lips together in annoyance. “You’re always fighting with her. What if you pushed too hard this time?”

“We’ve gotten better.” Ivar points out. It’s true. His recent dynamic with Brynhilda changed when he did something stupid and she rescued him. Neither of them bring it up. Beyond their constant bickering, however, they haven’t had an honest fight in months.

Ylva continues to glare at him accusingly. “Don’t you think if I really upset her, she would’ve tried to kill me?” He pauses, thinking back on his relationship with his bodyguard. “Again?” He adds, shuddering at the knife incident. Ylva huffs and sits back. “But why didn’t she talk to me? I’m her friend. Friends tells each other stuff.” Ivar pulls his hand from hers and shifts in his seat. In the back of his mind, he’s cursing Brynhilda to kingdom come. “Sometimes,” Ivar starts, then stops, trying to find the right words. “Sometimes people need to do things on their own, figure things out for themselves. I think something may have happened recently, and maybe she just needs time to herself.” It was the only logical thing he could think of.

           Ylva nods slowly, coming to terms with Brynhilda’s absence. He can still see the frown that furrows her face, but what else can he do? What can any of them do?


	2. Reunion

 When you’re a professional hitman, sometimes you get into sticky situations. When this happens, having a professional freight-train as your backup was much appreciated. Unfortunately, Ivar’s cavalry wasn’t coming. It’s been nearly a year since Brynhilda left, and damned if he didn’t curse her at least once a day.

           He can’t tell how long he’s been tied up, but he knows his face is on fire from the beatings. Of course, the problem with sending thugs to interrogate someone is that thugs have no imagination. They just know how to hit things. For someone who’s used to pain, it doesn’t inspire a willingness to talk. Proper torture methods on the other hand…it doesn’t matter at this point. He feels his restraints loosening up when there’s a commotion outside.

           Gunfire. A lot of gunfire. He sits and listens to the cacophony. It seems like one smaller gun against a lot of bigger guns. He rolls his eyes, a cop fight, really? Now? He struggles with his ropes all the harder, he can’t get caught by the cops again, Ylva would be pissed. There’s only so many times you can shrug and say ‘I’m a cripple’.

           He just has the last of his binds undone when the door is dramatically kicked open. He freezes, awaiting his fate. A figure sweeps the room with their gun, lowers it, then steps into the harsh glow of the halogen light. “Brynhilda!” He called, reaching for her. She gives him a terse smile and walks towards him. “We don’t have much time, I only managed to take down a few guar-, you’re hugging me, why are you hugging me?” She’d helped him stand on his feet, but he had other plans. Enveloping her in his arms, “Because I missed you, dumbass.” He muttered, hugging her tighter and burying his face in her hair.

           Ivar expects a sharp comment, an insult, something that smacks of Brynhilda’s world famous snark. But all he gets is a resigned sigh and her arms wrapping around his waist. She’s actually reciprocating his hug? An odd sort of glee runs through him. Gods this is sickening. “I missed you too, stupid idiot.”

           She’s the first one to pull back, “Look, we don’t have long, I only took out a few guards. Their backup will be here anytime, so let’s go.” Ivar nods. Brynhilda leads him out of the small room and into the hallway. He smiles, yup, this is her signature. Messy hallway, people half alive. “You’re shooting hasn’t improved.”

“Shut up.” She mumbles, leading him to lean on the wall. She bends down and hands him a gun. “I couldn’t find your crutches,” She says, throwing his arm around her shoulder again. They begin to walk as fast as Ivar can manage. Usually, their trips out of trouble are silent, this time, Ivar is much too curious. “Where did you go? What have you been up to? Why did you go? Are you ok? What happened? Where have you been?”

           Brynhilda mutters for him to shut up. “Not until you tell me if you’re better now.” She looks up at him, her famous, ‘I want to tell you but I’m not going to’ face on. “No,” She answers. “But that’s not important right now.” Ivar bites his tongue as they continue through the labyrinth. Ivar does stop to admire a body half hanging out of the window. “That’s particularly inspired.” He mutters. Brynhilda huffs, “I’m working through some issues.”

“But putting morons through a window?”

“I can always put  _you_  through a window.” She snaps. Ivar smirks, “You haven’t changed a bit.”

           They don’t say much as they make their way about. They push open the back door, home free…or so they hoped. Brynhilda shoves Ivar to the ground as a hail of bullets pepper the building behind them. They scramble for cover. You’d think common street thugs would get smarter as time passes, but now. Instead of laying down a constant fire, rotating when someone has to reload, everyone just shoots all at one, then reloads, allowing them to pick off idiots one by one.

           It’s as if Brynhilda had never left. Without talking, without coordination, each knows what needs to be done. They spend all of five minutes working away at the group. There’s several to still pick through when a screeching of tires distracts them. Brynhilda and Ivar watch as a car comes careening through the alley, mowing over the rest of goons. “What the hell is that?” Ivar asks. “Our ride,” Brynhilda mutters. She dives for Ivar and throws him over his shoulder. “Put me down!” He bellows. She runs to the car and shoves him in the back seat. Getting in with him, she snarls the word ‘go’ to the mystery driver.

           They go careening out of the alley. “Where to boss?” A tiny voice asks. “Anywhere but here.” Brynhilda instructs. They car takes off, tires squealing once more. Ivar situates himself in the back seat, buckling up. As he settles, he gets a good view of the driver. “Brynhilda?”

“What, Ivar?”

“Why is there a two-year-old driving the car?”

“Hey!” The kid speaks up, “I’m ten and three eighths thank you very much!” Ivar looks at Brynhilda as if she’d lost her damn mind. “What?” She asks.

“You’re employing a CHILD now?”

“Being employed would insinuate that I’m being paid, which I’m not,” The kids says. Brynhilda knees the back of the seat. “I feed you, don’t I?”

“Fair enough.”

“It’s a CHILD.” Ivar points out. Brynhilda looks at him. “Don’t judge me,” She snaps. “It’s been a rough year.” Ivar’s mouth clicks shut. The Brynhilda he knew wouldn’t be asking a child to do something that would get them killed. He trusted her to know what she was doing. He gives the kid his address. “No,” Brynhilda snaps. “We’re going to The Odd Spot.”

“We’re going home.” Ivar snaps. “Ivar,” Brynhilda growls. “Ylva misses you.” Brynhilda glares at him, “Don’t.”

“I miss you.”

“Stop.”

“I have a daughter now,” Ivar says, reaching into his pocket. He shoves a crumpled photo of Dagny into Brynhilda’s chest. “Her name is-”

“If you say one more word,” She snarls. “I will punt you out of this car and leave you.”

           Ivar settles back into the seat and turns away from her, fuming. This was not how he wanted this to go. He wished he had Ylva’s persuasion, but he didn’t. “At least explain one thing to me.” He says. “If this is about me leaving,” Brynhilda says, the warning in her voice evident. “How did you find me?”

“Like I said, it’s been a rough year.” Ivar rolls his eyes, that isn’t an answer. He wants to push her, but knows better. She may have missed him, but that didn’t mean she’d continue to tolerate his attitude.

The kid parks at The Odd Spot and cuts the engine. “We have arrived at our destination.” Brynhilda slips from the car, rushing around the other side to help Ivar. “Come on Taco,” She says. “I’ll get you some pizza.” The kids whoops in excitement and rushes out of the car, they throw the keys to Brynhilda, and rush inside.

           She shuffles Ivar in, asks for a booth, and sets Ivar down. She then takes Taco, breaks a fifty into ones, and sets him lose on the place. There aren’t many kids here tonight, it’s a weekday. The arcade style of the restaurant irritates Ivar, but watching Brynhilda watch Taco alleviates the irritation. He sips silently at his soda, sure he’s going to catch some sort of illness from the greasy feel of the glass, and wonders about what his friend had been up to. “Lars says he’ll be here in an hour.” Brynhilda tells him. He grunts. “Where did you meet the kid?”

           Brynhilda groans and puts her elbows on the table. “I fell back on old habits,” She admits. “got mixed up with the wrong sort of people.”

“Don’t tell me you have another Boggvir situation.” She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that. Almost, but I recognized the signs this time. Got them before they got me,” She shrugs. “The kid was some street rat they used to peddle drugs. Smart as hell, wasted potential.”

“What about the parents?” Brynhilda glares at Ivar. “You don’t think I just fucking jacked a kid, do you?”

“No,” Ivar says reasonably. “But did you at least try to find the parents?”

“I didn’t try, I succeeded. Left Taco there for a night. Next day, I find him hunched up in an alley, beaten to hell. The fuck was I supposed to do?”

“Adopt him and kill his parents.” Ivar says matter-of-factly. Brynhilda throws her hands in the air as if to say, ‘thank you’. “He lives with his aunt now, much nicer person, still a bit dodgy.”

           Ivar nods, not paying attention, he’s too busy trying to think of ways to bring her back home. It’s when she looks at him head on he starts paying attention. “I think you should wait awhile before taking another job.” He leans forward. “Why?”

“You seriously think tonight was an accident? You’re smarter than that.”

“Are you saying someone is targeting me?” He hisses. Panic sets in, what if they get to his family. “She’s a new comer,” Brynhilda explains patiently, “Small time fish wanting to make a big name for herself. Thinks if she kills you, she’s untouchable.” Ivar purses his lips. Unlikely, there was a network of hitmen in the area. They got jobs from a central hub, and that hub had rules. One of them was no killing other hitmen. Kept the peace apparently.

           “What aren’t you telling me?” He asks, suddenly uneasy. Brynhilda sighs and looks at her drink. “You?” Ivar says. “This woman sent you?” Brynhilda looks up at him sheepishly. He can’t believe this. “Brynhilda,” He says. “I know we’ve had our differences but-”

“I hate that you took Ylva away from me.” Ivar’s mouth snaps shut. He had Ylva first. “She was my only friend and you constantly got in the way. All she ever does is talk about you, it’s always you.”

“Brynhilda,” He tries. But there’s something off, she’s stiff, wooden. Even so, there are tears running down her face, and her bottom lip is trembling.  “I hate you, and I hate your baby.” This is wrong, this is so wrong. Why save him, only to kill him? He hears the telltale click of a gun being cocked. “Brynhil-” It goes off and he jumps. The unthinkable has happened, Brynhilda has just shot him.


	3. Come Home

Ivar is cursing her the moment the trunk opens. “Shut up.” Brynhilda snaps, helping him out. “You shot me!” He says, indignant. “I liked this shirt!” He picks at it, red paint splattered across his nice shirt.

“Thank you Brynhilda for setting up an elaborate plan that allows my family and I to survive this mess.” She mocks. “I don’t sound like that.” Ivar snarls as she throws him over her shoulder.

“Actually, it’s a pretty good impression sir.” Lars says, from the other car. “You’re fired.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Lothbrok would like that very much.” Ivar grumbles as Brynhilda settles him in the car, closing the door. She hands him an envelope through the open window. “I can take care of my own affairs you know.” Ivar huffs. This evening has really put him out. “I’ve been planning this for months,” Brynhilda tells him. “It’s my,” She stops, wincing. “It’s my parents place. I had an old friend clean it up, it has a crib for your daughter. All the modern amenities. The town is small, so there won’t be anyone to recognize you.”

           Ivar presses his lips together, it must’ve been hard for her to offer up her parent’s home, to plan all this. “I’ll come get you all when I sort this stuff out.”

“Brynie I-” Brynhilda doesn’t let him finish, just kisses him on the cheek before slipping out of the window and rushing back to her car. Lars starts the car, turns down the alley, leaving Brynhilda alone. Ivar closes his eyes and wishes her the best of luck.

*

           It was strange, being in Brynhilda’s childhood home. Ivar had heard of parents preserving a child’s room in the depths of their grief, but the reverse?  He kept thinking, ‘this is Brynhilda’s home. She slept here as a child. She ate here, at this table. She watched Saturday morning cartoons with her family.’ He scrutinized the pictures on the wall. How normal they all looked. Brynhilda running away from her brothers, her mom baking cookies with her, her father, pushing her on a swing. It gave Ivar the chills. Brynhilda was once a defenseless child, happy and carefree.

           Ylva and Ivar tried their best to keep the house as they found it. They couldn’t even make love it was so awkward. Late one night, Ivar damn near blasted a hole in the wall when the home phone went off. He hadn’t expected it to be connected to a land line. He grabs it, hoping it’s Brynhilda. “Hello?” He croaks, voice heavy with sleep. “Mr. Lothbrok?” Someone said. “Yes?” Ylva moves around in bed, trying to ignore him so she can go back to sleep. “This is Anna from St. Andrew’s Hospital.”

           He grips the sheet in his hands. “What has my dumbass brother done now?” He snarls, not realizing there was no way this Anna would have Brynhilda’s house phone. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m calling on behalf of Brynhilda Brynjarsdottir?” His heart drops into his belly. “Is she ok?” He asks, grabbing his clothes. Ylva doesn’t say anything, simply follows suit. There’s only three women in his life he’d be this concerned about, two of them are in the room with him. “Sir, she’s in surgery at the moment, if you come to-”

“Why is she in surgery? What happened?” Anna explains what she can. Brynhilda came in with massive blood loss, and needed surgery, other than that, she can’t tell him anything else. He growls and mutters something under his breathe about stupid nurses and slams to phone down on the receiver. He hurriedly explains to Ylva what’s happened. They get ready, gather Dagny, and head off to the hospital.

           When they get there, it all “Please calm down sir,” And “Wait until she’s out of surgery.” And “The doctor will be with you as soon as possible.” It irritated Ivar to no end. Ylva had been strangely quiet.

           Ivar paces as best his crutches allow. When he usually gets into these situations, he at least knows the extent of Brynhilda’s injuries. But now, he’s left completely blind. Had she nicked and artery? What it a stab wound? Gunshot? Multiple gunshots? Not knowing drove him absolutely crazy. Finally, just as he felt as though he were going to scream and start throwing things, someone walked into the waiting room. “Mr. Lothbrok?” She called. Ivar turns sharply, nearly losing his footing.

           The Doctor is a pretty woman, with dark hair and dark eyes. “Where’s Brynhilda?” He snaps. The doctor smiles gently at him. “I’m Dr. Yenageh,” She says walking up to him. “Brynhilda came in pretty bad shape, several wounds to-”

“Where is she?” Ivar says again. Ylva grips his arm. “Ivar, please,” She begs. “I’m sorry, we’re just worried. Is Brynie ok?”

“As I was saying, Brynhilda suffered a great deal of damage before she walked in. She’s stable, but that could change at any moment. I’m recommending she stay in the ER at least forty-eight hours.”

“Can we see her?” Ylva asks. “Of course. She’s under heavy sedation, so she won’t be up for a while.”

           The good doctor leads them to Brynhilda’s room. The woman in question is laying in a seat of white, looking like she got chewed up and spit out by death himself. Ylva lets out a soft ‘oh’ and immediately rushes to Brynhilda side. Before Ivar joins her, he stops the doctor to have a chat. “You will do everything in your power to help that woman,” He growls. “Mr. Loth-”

“I mean it, spare no expense. This woman-”

“Mr. Lothbrok, I assure you I’ve done everything I can up to this point. I will be monitoring Brynhilda’s progress closely. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” With that, the doctor turns on her heel and walks down the hall. Ivar growls and slips into Brynhilda’s room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He makes his way to a chair, pulls it up to her bed and sits down. Ylva has placed Dagny on the bed. The child is gripping Brynhilda’s sheets, looking at her curiously.

           She points and looks at her father, babbling. “Yes, very good Dagny,” Ivar mutters. “That’s the idiot we’ve been worried about since before you were born.”

“Don’t make me hit you,” Brynhilda mutters. “I will break myself all over again just so I can hit you.” Ivar smirks, he can’t help it, the fact that she can still threaten him help alleviate a lot of his worry. “You’re up? They said you were sedated.” Brynhilda cracks open a green eye. “I’m too pissed to sleep.” She mutters. Dagny let’s out a little shriek of happiness, and continues to babble. Brynhilda’s gaze travels to her. “Why is that thing in my bed? Get it out.” Dagny merely laughs and crawls up Brynhilda’s body, settling on her chest. Dagny yawns and wriggles about getting comfortable. “What is it doing?” Brynhilda asks, looking at Ylva slightly panicked. “She’s just going to sleep,” Ylva mutters getting up to take her daughter. “Disgusting.” Brynhilda huffs. “Leave her.” Ylva stops, hands around Dagny’s middle. She slowly backs away and sits back down in her chair.

           Brynhilda wraps and arm around Dagny, brushing hair out of the baby’s face. She sniffles and closes her eyes. “A nap sounds good.” She mumbles. Shifting in her seat, she adjusts Dagny a little and settles. Soon, both baby and woman are snoring. Ylva and Ivar look over at each other, smirking. It’s about time Brynhilda came home.


	4. Learn Your Place

  Ivar watches Brynhilda and Dagny sleep away the afternoon on the couch. She’s been home for three days now, and after a year of absence, he can’t believe she’s back. She’s still banged up, which is why Ylva insists she stay in their home. She didn’t get much argument from Ivar. He was happy to have Brynhilda back in his life again. What he was not happy about was how easily Dagny had taken to her.

           It wasn’t that Dagny seemed to prefer Brynhilda over him or his wife, it was just strange. Dagny didn’t just reach for anyone, didn’t let anyone hold her. What the hell was it about his friend that had his baby so relaxed? He’s momentarily distracted from trying to figure it out by the sound of a camera going off. He looks to his side to see Ylva, phone in hand, tongue sticking out, trying to get a good angle. “Really?” He mutters. She ignores him completely. He shuffles off to find some privacy.

           He sits in his office, resting his cane beside him. Everything about his reunion with Brynhilda irked him. She’d had a rough year, but how rough? Someone had tried to kill him, but she stopped it, why? Where had she gone? Why had she gone? Normally, Brynhilda was unbelievably transparent, now she couldn’t even talk about why’d she left. He growls, he can’t stand how closed off she’s become. But who the hell was he to force anything out of her?

           Ylva shuffles in. “You know we have dinner with Dr. Yenageh right?” He grunts. “Why do we have dinner with her again?”

“To thank her for helping Brynhilda.” A smile splits her face in two. Ivar can’t help but squint at his wife. “I know that smile, there’s something else going on in that pretty blond head of yours.” Ylva shuffles over to him and sits on his lap. “I think Brynhilda likes the Good Doctor.” She confesses. Ivar snorts. “Brynhilda hates doctors.” He points out. Ylva shakes her head. “Not this one. This one she likes.” Ivar stares out the open door, mulling it over. “Brynhilda likes women?”

“Brynhilda likes anyone old enough and attractive enough.” Speaking of the devil. Brynhilda stands in front of Ivar’s door, bouncing Dagny gently. “Why do you care?”

“No reason!” Ylva said, a little too quickly. Brynhilda narrows her eyes, looking between them. Unlike Ylva, Ivar can keep his poker face. “If you’re trying to set me up with that doctor again…”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Ylva says, standing as quickly as she can. “I just want to thank her properly for saving my family.” Brynhilda frowns as Ylva brushes past her, scooping up Dagny in the process. “When were you hurt?” Brynhilda asks, stepping into Ivar’s office. “Oh, for the love of the gods Brynhilda!” He exclaims, standing. Brynhilda tenses, ready to defend herself. “Sometimes I swear you’re willfully stupid. Ylva was talking about you, dumbass. You’re part of our family.”

           The rare look of hurt crossed Brynhilda’s beaten face. “I’m sorry,” She mutters, looking back towards Ylva. Ivar comes to stand next to her. “How am I family?” She asks him. He rolls his eyes to the heavens. “Really? Does it matter? You’re family.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, it matters,” Brynhilda says this so softly Ivar strains to hear her. “I need to know where I belong in all this.” Ivar is hit by a wave of nausea. He can handle comforting Ylva, Dagny too, but he’s never had to comfort Brynhilda. How does he do it? Does he hug her? Does he pat her head? Does her slap her shoulder? After a few moments of panic, he remembers her question. “Well, obviously you’re the shitty little sister I never wanted.” It sounds harsher than he means it to, so he scrambles to add, “but I love anyway.” Her brow smooths over, and she seems mollified. “Thanks.” She mutters, leaving. He lets out a large breath, crisis averted…for now.

*

           Brynhilda is going to kill Ylva. She planned this, she planned all of this, there is no way in utter hell this wasn’t planned. She knew something had been up with Ylva all day, and now she knew why. She’s been forced to dress in nice clothing for this mean, and was then sat next to The Woman. Already incapable of talking to others like a normal fucking human, Brynhilda’s social ineptitude wasn’t helped by the fact that Dr. Eliza Yenageh was easily the most beautiful woman she’d ever set eyes on.

           Beautiful curly hair, brown eyes, and high cheekbones, Dr. Yenageh had rendered her utterly useless. Gods she wished she could say something smart. She wants to be funny, to flash a smile, anything! Instead, she glares at the food in front of her, not eating, mumbling her answers the entire time. This just wasn’t fair. Why the hell couldn’t she be charming? Why couldn’t she be pretty? Don’t be stupid, she chides herself, the Doctor probably isn’t even into women. And if she was, she wouldn’t be into you. Goddesses don’t fall in love with dogs.

           Ylva, for all her credit, tries her best to keep the conversation flowing. Ivar even gives a few halfhearted attempts, but it’s still a painful struggle. Thankfully, Dagny begins to cry from the back room. Brynhilda can’t get up fast enough, muttering about how she’d take care of it, and disappears from the dining room.

           She shuts Dagny’s door and lets out a shaky breath. The gods must be punishing her. How else could it be explained? Not only is she unable to have the child she so desperately wants, she gets teased by a beautiful woman in what she thought was a safe space. No, that’s wrong, the doctor hasn’t teased her, she was just THERE, reminding her she’d never be loved. She picks Dagny up in an effort to soothe the baby. The child stops crying and immediately rests her head on Brynhilda’s shoulder.

           Dagny immediately begins to babble, pointing to nothing in particular. “I know,” Brynhilda sighs, sitting down in Dagny’s rocking chair. “I need to get over it, you’re absolutely right.” Dagny continues, not understanding a word being said. “Yes, I know, it’s pathetic to mope. I’m working on it kid.” She looks at Dagny, scrutinizing her every feature. She doesn’t really look like Ylva, more like Ivar, though Ivar claims she looks more like his mother.

           Does it matter? Brynhilda takes in another shuttering breath, feeling the tears prick the corners of her eyes. It looks like she’s just going to have to live vicariously through Ylva for the rest of her days. Not such an awful fate, all things considered. Don’t wish for more than you have, and maybe you wouldn’t be so sad. She presses a kiss to Dagny’s head, looking up when the door opens. “Brynie?” Ylva pops her head in. “I think she’s hungry is all.” Brynhilda says, getting up. “Brynhilda, you should go back out there.” She passed Dagny off to her mother. It’s quiet between them for a long while. “Please Ylva, don’t make me go back out there.” She’s aware of how cowardly she’s being, but she can’t do it anymore. Not tonight, she’s too heart sick. “Brynie, you can talk to me you know.”

           Brynhilda kisses Ylva’s cheek. “I know. I’ll be fine, I promise.” She slips past her friend and escapes to her room. Laying on her bed, thoughts of Dr. Yenageh fill her head. She feels creepy, thinking about a woman she barely knows, she can’t help it. She wonders what it would be like to wake up next to someone who actually liked her, instead of someone she paid? To be looked at by those warm brown eyes, so full of love.

           What would it be like to be touched with soft hands? Loving hands? How would it feel to have someone smooth over her skin reverently? What was it like, knowing someone desired you as much as you desired them? She turns over and curls into herself. Shutting her eyes tightly, she wonders what it would feel like if someone kissed her scars lovingly, soothed her aches and pains. For once, in her life, what would it be like to be held in a warm embrace? She can’t remember what it’s like, her parents are years in the grave.

           Her father always told her anything was possible. She has to wonder, the little, damning sliver of hope worms it’s way into her heart. Was it at all possible for someone to willingly give themselves to her. Could someone actually look at her without revulsion? Without fear or anger or hate? She looks at her hands, scarred and ugly from years of abuse. Was it possible for her to love someone? Could she be gentle and warm and caring? Or was she doomed to a life of violence?

           She’d never know. Dogs don’t get to love and be loved, they just get to be dogs. That’s all Brynhilda would ever be, an attack dog for the highest bidder. Nothing more than a violent animal that needed to learn her place in the world.


End file.
